The Flute
by whitejaderabbit
Summary: Emotion. Beauty. Art. Some of the most fragile, most precious things that man can experience and discover, even in the midst of darkness. Gaaracentric. Light, no pairings. Angst in a light, reflective sense, not dark. Oneshot


Green Tea: God, I'm such a spoiled brat, writing all these stories that I like. I'm starting to feel like I don't care so much about the audience, but I write to put my ideas on paper, to release emotion, if possible.

After watching the Gaara vs. Naruto episodes, I felt truly sad for Gaara, so I decided to make it all better through a fanfiction of self-discovery and redemption. Gaara, too, should have a way to learn all those things about life that he missed out on in his lonely childhood. Not a romance fic, however, but I hope, happy and inspirational, nonetheless. Hope you enjoy!

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Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto, or any of the characters. However, this plot is mine.

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The Flute

Chapter 1: Hope

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Brilliant streaks of crimson and indigo clouds raced across the desert sky that late afternoon, hindered by nothing as the wind drove them onwards towards the setting sun.

It was dangerous for one to be out in the open desert at such an hour, when the winds came, and the sand flew into the air, harsh enough to overpower even the strongest of the strong. Wise animals, used to the ways of the sand, took refuge within the hardened sand dunes.

If one were to stand on such a dune, one could see for what seemed like thousands of miles around, sand.  
Nothing but sand, orange under the setting sun.

However, one figure was not afraid of the strong winds, nor blinded by the flying grains of hardened, dried mineral.  
He stood majestically upon a dune, gazing toward the ebbing disc of gold before him through dark-ringed eyes. It seemed like even nature herself would bend to his wishes, for no sand trailed along his long coat, a symbol of his absolute power in this village of golden-plated dust.

Gaara preferred the peace of the empty desert. It was only here, that he felt... at ease. Perhaps it was the emptiness. The cleaness, the purity, with no other living organism to taint it's silent chastity.

The newly-made Kazekage took a deep breath of the dry desert air. It smelled stale, not in the sense as one would describle a hospital smell, but rather, a stale tang of age and wisdom. For what could be more knowing that nature herself?

Some felt that the young sand master wandered in the desert for solitude, others thought he comtemplated in the silence.

But he neither thought, nor wished for solitude; For his mind was empty every afternoon as he stood, gazing at the setting sun, and then the rising moon. He said nothing, thought of nothing, felt nothing.

Sand grains fell back onto the dunes once more, as the violent afternoon winds metamorphasized into gentle night breezes.

The moon rose, it's gentle light gazing over the quiet sands, basking all in a flush of silver. The stars entered the dark stage of the sky, and soon the play of night began.

The boy continued to stare at everything and nothing at all, while breezes dusted his short, burgundy tresses from side to side.

Suddenly, a pure, wavering sound broke the silence and danced along the dusty plateau, blown along by a playful zeyphr. It was followed by another sound, and another, in a sucession, creating a sweet but wavering melody. And then it was silent again, although the music hung thick in the air, like a drape of foreign mist.

Gaara whipped around, the end of his cloak whippling in the breeze. A streak of sand swirled around him, ready to do his bidding, should the occasion arise.

"Gomenasai, Kazekage-sama, I didn't mean to startle you." A ragged voice spoke, and coughed hollowly after speaking.

A old, frail man with long white hair stumbled up to the sand dune. In one hand, he leaned a knobby wooden stick. In the other, he grasped a coursely-made, bamboo flute.

Gaara relaxed his body slightly, though the sand still hovered, at the ready.

"Who are you?" He asked brusquely.

The old man tottered to the top of the dune and coughed so violently that for an instant, Gaara feared he would tumble off. After recovering from his bout of wheezing, he replied in a rasply voice.  
"No one of any consequence. I see you here frequently, Kazekage-sama... I come here often as well."

He turned toward the full moon, looming over the desert, his white beard flowing freely with the gentle breeze.  
"Ara... It's a full moon tonight. Beautiful."

Gaara dropped his sand, but kept an eye on this odd stranger.

"Ne... You don't mind if I play my flute, do you?"

His gaze whipped toward the worn flute clutched in the stranger's hands. He turned away.  
"No."

"Arigato, Kazekage-sama."

There was the sound of some shuffling, and then terse silence.

Then the sounds came again. Pure, and beautiful. It was no longer simply 'music', it was a voice, it was singing, it was...

Gaara stood transfixed, his eyes still resolutely locked upon the moon.

He never heard anything so beautiful, so... wonderful. His felt his chest compress and decompress, as he breathed heavily, as though he could breathe in the melody, the notes, the voice of the flute...

The last note wavered for a few seconds, and drifted away...

The boy could not stop himself.

"What is that?"

To his surprise, the old man chuckled. Gaara turned around.

"Well, don't you know, Kazekage-sama? It's called music."

Gaara blinked. He heard music before, the off-key singing of his sister, Temari, or the simple tune that Kankuro's puppets played on the harp, sometimes. But never had he imagined it could be so... He found that he could not think of a word to describe it.

The flute-player coughed again before speaking.

"Music... Art... It's emotion and beauty in it's purest form. I can think of no other name for it. Have you never heard it before?"

"Emotion?" Gaara frowned. He heard people speak of emotion before, of love and other such things, but he couldn't recall ever feeling it himself. Hate, perhaps, but nothing so beautiful. Was emotion beautiful? He never knew.

"That is emotion?" He asked.

"It is." The cracked voice continued. "Which emotion do you think that was, Kazekage-sama?"

The boy frowned again.

"I don't know."

"Try."

For a reason beyond his knowing, he attempted to find a word to describe the beauty he just heard.  
"Light?"

"That's not an emotion. Try again."

Gaara crossed his arms and turned away.  
"I don't know."

The old flute player gazed at the moon again.  
"This one is called 'hope', Kazekage-sama..."

"Hope?"

The man coughed again.  
"Yes."

"What is hope?"

Another ragged cough.  
"What you just heard, Kazekage-sama."

Most would have argued that this was circular logic, but somehow it made sense to Gaara. He turned his head to look at the old flute-player, but to his astonishment, he was gone.

Gaara gazed at the drifting strains of sand floating below the dune, only subconciously aware that the ever-lasting pain in his chest subsided a little.

He liked this thing called 'hope'.

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Green Tea: Hope you liked it! Please review! 


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